


Sansa: A NOVEL in Five Parts

by imagineagreatadventure



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Jane Austen Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M, Female Friendship, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Minor Arya Stark/Gendry Waters, Minor Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Minor Theon Greyjoy/Jeyne Poole, References to Jane Austen, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-07 10:27:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13432770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imagineagreatadventure/pseuds/imagineagreatadventure
Summary: Sansa Stark, handsome, clever, rich, hopes to establish herself as her town's foremost matchmaker. After seeing her governess Miss Shae married to the rich and clever Mr. Tyrion Lannister, she feels as though she deserves that title. Her dear friend and cousin, Jon Targaryen, heartily disagrees and is quite proven right when Sansa sets her sights on marrying off her newest and dearest friend Jeyne Poole to the vicar Mr. Baelish.~An Emma AU in Five Parts.





	1. Volume I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [merrymegtargaryen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrymegtargaryen/gifts).



> This is a gift to a friend of mine and I hope she likes it! Happy Belated Birthday!
> 
> ~
> 
> Also a note: this is written in the Jane Austen "style" which means lots of dialogue, formal language, and a narrator whose tongue is in her cheek. Hope you enjoy!

**VOLUME ONE**

The Christmas Eve invitations to Casterly Rock were sent and received with immense joy. Mr. Tyrion Lannister and his new wife, Mrs. Shae Lannister, were proud to show their small home to their favored neighbors. “I do miss your governess,” remarked Mrs. Stark to her daughters. “She had more sense than is usually allotted to women of her birth.”

“How can you miss her?” chimed Arya. “She only lives a mile or two down the road.”

“It is not quite the same as her living in our house.”

“Robb’s house,” Sanas corrected. “It’s Robb’s house now that Father is gone.”

“ _Robb’s house then_ \-- although we have yet to see him home at Winterfell since he has married Miss Westerling.”

“He will be here for Christmas -- see Mr. Lannister has even invited your brother and _his Jeyne_ to dine at Christmas Eve.”

“He’s also invited your Jeyne Poole as well, Sansa, which is quite generous _considering--”_

“Considering nothing, Mother! Jeyne Poole is a sweet girl.”

At this her cousin and neighbor, Jon Targaryen, interrupted, a small smile on his face. “Jeyne Poole is only sweet to you because she allows you to dictate her life -- none of the rest of us will allow you such a privilege,” Mr. Targaryen said.

Sansa only sniffed, determined not to speak to such an outrageous lie, but her sister Arya laughed. “It’s true, Jon! She cannot order you around for your family owns all the land here and you’re older besides. Our brothers are gone off -- Bran and Rickon are at school while Robb is to be ordered around by his wife.”

“And you are just as determined as Sansa to rule your own life -- therefore she cannot rule yours,” Mr. Targaryen said, his smile wider than it had been before Arya’s speech.

Arya laughed in agreement -- breaking Sansa’s determination to stay silent. “I do not rule Jeyne’s life!” Sansa almost wished she did rule Jeyne’s life -- she was sure if she had run it, the poor girl wouldn’t have found herself bedridden with a cold on the eve of Christmas Eve!

* * *

“It is not too bad, dear Sansa,” Jeyne said, her pretty face full of red and white patches. Still ill and feverish, she pressed on: “The fever has gone down since yesterday.”

Sansa patted her friend's hand, “It will be alright, Jeyne, I promise you. And I am sure Mr. Baelish will miss you terribly.”

“Do you think?” Jeyne asked, her eyes wide as she fiddled with a handkerchief.

“Oh! I am sure of it as I am sure of anything, dear Jeyne.” And Sansa was quite sure of _everything_. Mr. Petyr Baelish was certainly in love with her friend and while Sansa thought him too old for sweet Jeyne at first, his respectability of manner and genuine interest in her friend’s comfort over the past months had persuaded her of his intent. And he was a much better match for Jeyne than the Iron Islander Theon Greyjoy! Whom Jeyne had preferred before Sansa befriended her. He would uplift Jeyne -- as a vicar’s wife Jeyne would be _someone._ “In fact, he has asked about your health!”

“Truly?”

“Yes, dear Jeyne,” Sansa pressed her friend’s red cheek. “I have told him of your battle with this terrible cold and you have only grown in his esteem. I am sure he will visit you as soon as you are fit for his company.”

Which shouldn’t be too long now, Sansa hoped. She missed speaking with her friend over silly things that Arya refused to speak about, that her mother sighed over, and that Jon liked to raise an eyebrow at. Shae -- or rather, _Mrs. Lannister_ \-- used to speak about such things with Sansa but was now too busy running her own household to do so. Robb would indulge Sansa from time to time, but he was so rarely home that they never were able to speak of such impertinent things.

But now he was home for Christmas and guiding her along the shops, smiling as she tittered over the latest ribbons hanging in in the shop window. “I think your wife would love this color,” she was telling her brother when Mr. Baelish appeared in the corner of her eye. They greeted each other with cordiality and Robb shook the vicar’s hand in remembrance, speaking of nonsense and bother until Mr. Baelish brought up the party, allowing Sansa to slip in her friend’s name at last.

“It is a shame that Miss Poole cannot come tomorrow for Christmas supper,” Sansa said, hoping to stoke something in Mr. Baelish’s heart. “I have just visited her this very morning and she was still too ill to come.”

“You have visited her?”

“Yes, several times over the last week -- ever since we have learned of her illness.”

“Are you well then, Sansa?” Mr. Baelish asked, his hand reaching out to hers as if to grasp it. Not meaning to, Sansa took a step back and let out a careful, ringing laugh that made her brother Robb look over with concern.

“I am not dying, Mr. Baelish! I have only visited her a few times and have no flushed cheeks or fever. My mother would not allow me to be ill.”

“Your mother, yes, yes, she wouldn’t,” Mr. Baelish said, his eyes keen. “I will see you all at the Christmas party at Casterly Rock then?”

“Yes, yes,” Robb rejoined. “We will see you there on the morrow. You will have a chance to meet my wife. She looks forward to meeting you and all the other neighbors. Good to see you today, Baelish,” he nodded as a way to mark the end of the conversation.

If Mr. Baelish was annoyed at the lack of a title, he did not show it on his face. “I look forward to the opportunity,” he said, bowing and smiling.

When the vicar left their sight, Robb said to his sister, without a trace of amusement: “I would watch out for him, Sansa, I am quite sure he has his sights set on you. He has the mark of a man bewitched.”

“Me?” Sansa was baffled. “I am quite sure you are wrong, dear brother!”

“I know you are the one with the nose about these things, or so Mother informs me, but I am a man with eyes and ears who has lived amongst other men -- and I swear, Sansa, if you do not be careful with him...”

“And I am quite sure you are wrong -- he has asked extensively over Jeyne’s health, you know.”

“Jeyne Poole? That girl you have befriended from the orphan house? The one Theon was mad about -- the one you told to refuse Theon?” He sound almost angry on his friend's behalf but Sansa paid it no mind.

“She is hardly a girl, Robb -- she is a woman just as I am.”

Robb’s laugh only soured Sansa’s opinion over his theory regarding Mr. Baelish. “I am quite, _quite_ sure you are wrong, Robb,” she said again. “What an idea! As if he could love me!” _As if I could love him_ \-- was her true thought in the matter and blinded her to her brother's opinion. 

“We shall see, sister.”

Amused at her brother, Sansa told their sister of his suspicions laughing as they rode in the carriage together to Casterly Rock. It was a comfort that they were able to share a carriage while Robb, his wife, and their mother shared the other.

Much to Sansa’s disappointment, her sister did not share in the delight. “Robb may be right, Sansa.”

“How can you say that?”

Arya shook her head. “Be careful with him at the party -- you might be encouraging his attentions by mistake.”

“Encouraging his attentions towards me? I want him to marry Jeyne!”

“Be careful,” Arya only said with such an uncharacteristically serious expression that Sansa had to agree to her sister’s demand.

It was difficult to do so when Mr. Baelish was the gentleman who helped them out of the carriage. “My dears,” he said to them both, holding Sansa’s gloved hand a little longer than necessary.

Sansa wondered if he had too much of Mr. Lannister’s good wine already -- so early in the evening too. “Mr. Baelish,” she greeted.

“Is it not a beautiful winter night? Your family is from the North originally so this must feel like home.”

“My father is from the North,” Sansa said, wondering how on earth she ending up taking his elbow and walking into the house with him. Arya was able to escape early on -- their cousin Jon had arrived on a white horse and had been bombarded by her sister’s attention before he was able to remove himself from his steed. Sansa would have liked to greet him as well but was inside the warm house with her arm entwined with Mr. Baelish’s before she knew it.

“Sansa!” Mrs. Shae Lannister greeted, a smile on her face -- allowing Sansa to find her escape. She greeted her old governess with the love of a sister, freeing herself from Mr. Baelish’s grasp.

“My wife has been excited to see you all evening,” Mr. Tyrion Lannister smiled once his wife released Sansa from her embrace. Sansa could see another quip on the corner of Mr. Lannister’s mouth and she laughed before he could state his jape, worried that it would alarm her mother, who had just walked into the drawing-room.

“Thank you for allowing us into your home,” Sansa said after she laughed. “I have never seen a home more welcoming than yours.”

Mr. Lannister looked ready to speak again but was interrupted by Mr. Baelish who overtook him with a slippery smile. “It is truly a warm, pleasant place with a wonderful woman’s touch.”

“Quite,” Mr. Lannister said, looking both puzzled and alarmed. “Good to see you, vicar.”

“Likewise...”

“Is it not a shame that Miss Poole could not be with us?” Sansa exclaimed, hoping to steer attention towards her friend. “I miss her terribly. I wish she was not ill.”

Mr. Baelish shook his head. “The shame of the matter is that you have seen her so often! A cold is a serious thing, Miss Stark.” Sansa could not help express astonishment with Mr. Baelish’s declaration and _yet!_ He continued on, speaking as though she were a child and not a grown woman. As if was her husband or brother and not her vicar! It was only a few moments and yet both Lannisters abandoned her to her fate, preferring to greet their other guests and to speak of Mr. Lannister’s beloved brother -- who was promising to finally visit now that he has married -- rather than listen to the vicar lecture Sansa on her health. The only lectures Sansa could abide were from Jon -- at least his were sensible and true. And he was family! Although Mr. Baelish was the vicar he was also near a stranger to Sansa -- and, besides, wasn’t it unkind to _not_ visit a sick friend? Wasn’t that when they needed a friend most?

But she did not dare argue this line of thought -- too eager to escape instead. “Excuse me, Mr. Baelish,” Sansa said, when he took a breath. “I must speak to Mr. Lannister.”

“But he is much too close to the window, my dear, shouldn’t you be closer to the fire? It’s too cold near the window.”

 _ **My dear!**_ What happened to Miss Stark? “That is an impressive speech sure to sway another young lady,” Sansa smiled hoping it would satisfy the man enough to leave her be, “but I must speak to Mr. Lannister.”

And before Mr. Baelish could protest again, she moved swiftly towards the group speaking of Mr. Jaime Lannister.

It was an infamously tragic story between brothers -- one beloved by their father, the other despised. While Tyrion Lannister fought his way through the ranks of law -- attending law school at the most prestigious university in Westeros -- Jaime Lannister was given everything he ever wanted but only if their father allowed it. The eldest son was held back by his father’s demands, still more a boy than a man, while Mr. Tyrion Lannister had grown up and married. And while Tyrion Lannister had visited his family -- on small occasions -- Jaime Lannister had never been allowed to visit his younger brother.

“Father has agreed to let Jaime visit,” Mr. Lannister said. “He is apparently content enough with my choice of wife that my brother will be allowed to visit us at his leisure.”

“What is your brother like?” Robb asked. “You have spoken much about him and yet we know so little.”

“He is not as handsome as I,” grinned Mr. Lannister, “but he is known to be a handsome man. Charming too, but again, not as charming as I.”

Sansa would have laughed if a hand did not grab her elbow. Expecting to find Mr. Baelish, she flinched but it was only Jon.

He frowned at her flinch. “Are you alright, Sansa?”

“I was worried that you were -- well it doesn’t matter. What is it?”

“Have you looked out the window?”

She had not and did so now. “Snow,” she said, suddenly understanding the worry in Jon’s eyes. “There will be a panic if the others think we will be stuck here -- Mother will especially be unhappy since Rickon and Bran will be left home alone all night. And,” she realized with dread, “the Lannisters don’t have enough bedrooms to let us all stay.”

“You keep them calm,” Jon said, “and I will investigate the roads.”

She nodded and then he was gone.

“What was that about?” Mr. Baelish asked, coming towards her with a strange look on his face.

“Oh nothing important,” Sansa lied with a smile. “We were discussing our presents for Rickon and Bran.”

“Miss Stark you do not have to lie for me,” he smiled. “Are you feeling unwell? I am sure I warned you of visiting Miss Poole.”

“It is not that sir!” Sansa responded, annoyed.

“I told you it was too cold by the window, my dear Miss Stark.”

 _I am not your dear!_ \-- she wanted to tell him but instead she gestured towards the window, too aggravated to speak sensibly.

“Snow!” he exclaimed.“That means the roads will be terrible -- too terrible to travel.”

He said this too loud, of course, almost as if he meant to be too loud, and the rest of the party began to exclaim as well, upset at what they were witnessing in the window.

Sansa, remembering her promise to Jon, kept the peace as best she was able, and Mr. Lannister, sensing her exertion, assisted as best he could, promising rooms if travel was unable to occur. This did not sway either of the two Mrs. Starks who both preferred sleeping in their own bed or Mrs. Lanister who knew there were not enough rooms for all of the guests.

Jon came in and found a clamor and a distressed Sansa but was able to settle it with only a sentence: “We are free to leave -- the roads are fine.”

The bells were rung and the carriages were called. Grateful, Sansa smiled at Jon -- too far away to thank him with words. He smiled back and her heart was settled to the point that she forgot the source of its aggravation.  Which was a mistake for, without meaning to, she found herself in the carriage with Mr. Baelish and _only_ Mr. Baelish. She had forgotten that they offered to give him a ride home -- and hadn’t realized until too late that Arya was determined to ride home with the rest of their family and so it was only Sansa in the carriage with him. Only Sansa -- if she had known this she would have begged to sleep at the Lannister’s.

She sat as far away from him as possible and was greatly startled when he began speaking of nonsense -- he spoke so quickly and so abruptly that she hadn’t been able to speak more sensibly of the party or Jeyne Poole! He begged her for her hand -- beseeched her with an expression of such _falseness_ that she had wondered why she had never seen it before this day -- and he began to remove her glove in order to grasp her hand better.

“Mr. Baelish!” she reprimanded, retrieving her hand from his, wondering what the driver would say if she ordered him to stop the carriage. “You are mistaken! You do not love me -- you love Miss Poole!”

She had not expected laughter to greet this statement of fact. “Miss Stark -- sweet Sansa -- you are incorrect in this assumption -- what do I care for Miss Poole? She could live or die and it would matter nothing to me. It is you who I care for.”

Sansa’s heart broke for her friend. “Live or die! How can you say such a thing? As a man of the gods you should not say such things!”

He only looked amused at her naivete. “Sansa, you are too kind to your friend and it speaks only well of you.”

She said nothing, too astonished to speak. He, feeling emboldened by her silence, decided to speak more. “You love me, I know -- for else why would you give me such attentions! And your silence says all -- it seems that you were just too humble to believe that -- “

“Humble?” Sansa laughed. _If Jon could have heard this_ \-- “Mr. Baelish you assume too much. My attentions to you were on the behalf of my friend. You are no more than a common acquaintance to me. I do not and could not love you.”

“And yet you think I could love Miss Poole!” To Sansa’s shock, he seemed more aggravated by this than her refusal. “She is nothing.”

 _“She is my friend_.”

He said nothing to this, his eyes angry and if the carriage door had not been opened by the driver (for they had reached Mr. Baelish’s home), Sansa wondered what he would have said to her, but fortunately only moments later he was gone.

And it was only then that Sansa recalled what Robb had prophesied regarding Mr. Baelish and it was then that she decided to tell no one but Miss Poole. It was too embarrassing to think that Robb was right about love and she was not! She -- the woman who had predicted Shae and Tyrion marrying! -- unable to predict a man as simple as Mr. Baelish. It was mortifying.

If her family was able to discern a change in her when she arrived home a few minutes after them, they attributed it to exhaustion and Sansa never corrected them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There may not be a Christmas in Westeros but oh well!


	2. Volume II

**VOLUME TWO**

On the first of February, a letter was received by Mrs. Stark from her sister, Mrs. Lysa Arryn nee Tully.  It said:

'[To Mrs. Stark.]

 

January 24th

 

Dear sister!

You know how devastated I was when my beloved Jon (Arryn) passed -- the tears that flowed! Poor little Robin was my only source of comfort. There is no better balm for the soul than your children after all -- you know this well since your dear Ned is gone from this world as well. But! I have delightful news, my dear,  _ older _ sister. I have married again! And you know him well! He is your vicar -- he came to the capital after suffering some sort of slight from one of the young women in your town, he dared not to mention who to such a close relation to one of his townspeople (as you are the  _ sheep in his flock _ after all!) but his heart was soft and his eyes were kind and we fell in love as  _ young people are wont to do! _ So I am married once more, dear sister! I know you are my elder _ by several years _ but you should find yourself another husband as I did -- there is no better solution to one’s woes!

 

Love from

 

Mrs. Lysa **_Baelish'_**

 

“Young people?” Sansa asked once she finished reading the letter her mother handed her. “They are both closer to forty than thirty!”

“Your Aunt Lysa has always possessed a youthful heart.”

“This is so sudden though! They must have known each other for only a week before they agreed to marry! Mr. Baelish only left town right after the New Year --”

“Aunt Lysa has always been stran --” Arya began to say before her mother interrupted.

“She is still your elder.”

“Not according to her letter,” Sansa frowned.

Arya sighed. “Does this mean she will be joining us in town? With cousin Robin?”

“It seems to be so.” Mrs. Stark joined her daughter in sighing. “I do not know if she will bring Robin just yet but…”

Sansa’s frown did not ebb. “I hope they will not come for several weeks -- I do not think I could bear such a happy relation.”

Mrs. Stark smiled. “You prefer us all to be in misery then?”

Sansa laughed. “Miserable people are tolerable -- they keep their grousing to themselves most often, while the joyous cannot keep it in.”

“One day you’ll find someone who makes you just as happy, Sansa,” her mother cautioned.

“I doubt this -- there is no man as great as Florian. At least no man that I have met.”

“Florian,” Arya shook her head. “He is not real. He’s a character from your novels.”

“I will only marry a man as good as him.”

“Then you won’t marry at all.”

“Do I need to?” Sansa asked, although the idea of never marrying made her cross. But she couldn’t let her sister know this. Arya would only laugh at her sister.

“No,” Arya said, “and neither do I.”

“You are both perfectly silly girls -- and fortunate enough that you do not  _ need _ to marry anyone. Most are not as lucky. You have met Miss Roelle -- a miserable woman whose only source of comfort is the distant cousin who is forced to visit once a year. She was born to a gentleman whose estate was entailed to a distant male relation and then she never found a man to marry -- now she is dependent on the charity of her neighbors. You have the fortunate luck in being born to a family of wealth and property -- although it is not as much wealth and property as your neighbor and cousin, Mr. Targaryen, it is still a fortunate amount.”

“And I suppose we are fortunate Robb has not turned us out of his home.”

“And he never will! The idea of it. Winterfell estate may be entailed to him but the house is large enough to fit two growing families. And he loves you both. He knows that familial duty requires him to allow you to stay.”

“Then Arya and I do not have to marry --” Sansa said, although the idea, again, haunted her more than pleased her. Arya’s smile was wide and merry, however, and this caused the cheer to spread to Sansa.

The cheer did not reach their mother who was perusing the letter once again with a skeptical eye. “I do wonder about Robin’s inheritance. I feel as though I should address Mr. Lannister and ask him to look after it for your cousin.”

“Do you truly think Mr. Baelish…” Sansa was interrupted by her mother before she could finish her accusation.

“No, of course not. I worry about Lysa’s sense is all.”

With this caution in mind, Sansa made her way over to Casterly Rock, deciding to ask Mr. Lannister to visit her mother as soon as possible. She was to have tea with Mrs. Lannister anyhow and thought it would be an easy enough task to persuade the man. This soon would be proven to be an unwise assumption for a guest had arrived only moments before Sansa, a guest who had never been seen in these parts before that day, and would cause all thoughts of her cousin Robin’s inheritance to fly out of her head.

“Sansa, dear, meet Mr. Lannister’s brother, Mr. Jaime Lannister,” Shae said almost as soon as Sansa arrived and found herself in the drawing room. 

It was impossible not to be dazzled by Jaime Lannister, Sansa decided. He was the most handsome man she had ever met. His smile charmed her, as did his manners. He possessed a figure every gentleman should have although most gentlemen did not.

His manners indicated he thought her likewise charming and it was not a day later that Shae sent a note over to Winterfell that was full of Jaime Lannister’s praise over Sansa’s manners and figure -- compliments that Sansa had heard numerous times before but meant more from a man outside of her small circle of friends and acquaintances. 

Although he was quite old, closer to forty than thirty, she believed that there was something about him that indicated a youthful heart. Sansa had yet to meet a man she thought she could fall in love with -- but suspected Mr. Jaime Lannister was as close as she could come to such a man. 

He was only there for a fortnight, he told her at dinner the next night -- but promised that there would be many more visits after that. “My father has unleashed the dam,” he laughed. “You cannot keep me away for long.”

Everyone was charmed -- excepting her mother, but her mother was rarely charmed.

Even Jon seemed to find him tolerable, which was as high praise as Jon was willing to give for a man he had only known a few days. “You all may judge him as you like, but I discern a man’s character through his actions and not his words.”

“And are his actions not of a gentleman’s?” Sansa protested as they walked together from the Lannister’s home. She had taken Jon’s arm as she usually did and frowned, her tone reproving. “I have seen nothing to indicate otherwise.”

“I cannot yet say. The only thing I have noticed is that you all are amenable to his pretty words and compliments and have yet to notice the edge underneath. His brother has noticed, of course, and perhaps Mrs. Lannister has as well, but neither will say unkind things to or about the only member of Mr. Lannister’s family that has expressed kindness and goodwill towards them.”

“And isn’t that proof enough he is of good character?”

“Perhaps,” Jon hedged. “But wouldn’t it be better if he had come sooner?”

“And disparaged his father’s will?”

“Ah, that is the problem is it not?” Jon asked. “One vow -- a vow of brotherhood, or a vow of obeying one’s parents. Or,” he added with a thoughtful look, “is it another  _ will  _ entirely that appeals to Mr. Lannister.”

“You are crass,” Sansa sniffed, removing her arm from his. “Speaking of money!”

“I am sensible of the facts.”

“And I am not? I am always sensible.”

“Except when you see things as you want to see them -- do you not remember how you believed Mr. Baelish’s favor fell to your friend? And now I hear he is your newest relation.”

Sansa hoped Jon could not see how struck she was still by that news. “One mistake -- I am allowed one mistake!”

“Perhaps just one,” Jon smiled.

* * *

Sansa had yet to tell her dear friend of the news of Mr. Baelish’s marriage -- petrified that it would undo all the work she had accomplished with Jeyne since Christmas. Jeyne had cried for an entire fortnight, disbelieving that any man would love her, somehow forgetting that one man had already proposed to her earlier that year. Although he was entirely unsuitable -- an Iron Islander! _ Gods forbid it! _ \-- it was still proof enough that lovely Jeyne would and could love another man.

“Mr. Greyjoy was not a good sort -- he may be Robb’s friend but even  _ he _ has told me, in confidence you know, that Mr. Greyjoy is not the sort of man who would honor his vows, you understand me, don’t you, Jeyne?” Sansa looked over at her friend with wary eyes as they walked the streets of ____ton. 

Jeyne only sighed. “I know,” she said, “and I’ve heard he’s promised another girl to marry her in the capital. He’s a rogue. A dashing, handsome rogue like from one of Marillion’s novels.”

Sansa made a note to find Jeyne better novels. One with sense and very little sensibility. “Quite… right.”

“But Mr. Baelish wasn’t like that, oh, he knew which of us was better and knew it well, Sansa. And it was not I -- he knew you were --”

“Knew it well? He knows nothing, Jeyne! He is a snake in disguise. I have never met such a deceiver.”

“But is he not to be your uncle now?”

“I suppose so, but I shall not call him anything but Mr. Baelish. Imagine I calling him Uncle Petyr! The very thought is abhorrent.”

“Is it not strange that he once proposed to you and now has married your aunt? It feels as if there is something  _ wrong _ with that sentiment.”

“Wrong indeed! I entirely agree with you, Jeyne, although I am unsure if sentiment is the correct word.”

“Oh! Well, I am sure I do not know either.”

At this juncture of the conversation, they were joined by Mr. Jaime Lannister, who had come from across the street upon seeing Sansa and her friend. Introductions were made and greetings were passed. “I have just gone to visit Miss Roelle, my brother suggested it. I think he was making fun of me as she is probably the nastiest old maid I have ever met.”

“Oh? Truly?” This fascinated Sansa. “She is the only true old maid I know -- well, I suppose Shae was an old maid once but now she has married your brother and is not one any longer.”

Jaime Lannister laughed. “Shae an old maid? I knew you were young but this statement proves it. She was not a year over thirty when my brother proposed.”

“Oh but Miss Mordane, my caretaker,” Jeyne explained upon spotting Mr. Lannister’s raised eyebrow, “says that girls should be married by twenty-seven at the latest!”

“And when did Miss Mordane marry?”

“Oh!” Sansa realized. “I suppose Miss Mordane is an old maid as well! Funny how I never think of her as such. She runs her own household filled with young ladies who need homes so I have never thought of it.”

“Is it a school?” 

“Of sorts. I assist her now,” Jeyne supplied with a beautiful smile.

“Well,” Mr. Lannister said, looking as if he more to say on that but did not think he was in the right company to say it, “I believe a woman is not truly an old maid until she is forty.”

“Forty!”

“Forty,” he said again with a twinkling smile. It reminded Sansa of his brother Tyrion’s anytime they went to a service of Mr. Baelish’s. 

Eager to escape this argument  _ and _ eager to hear what transpired at Miss Roelle’s, Sansa asked, “But you spoke to Miss Roelle then?”

His attention caught by Sansa, Mr. Lannister spoke at a slow pace, as if he enjoyed seeing the reaction on the young women’s faces. “Ah yes! And it was not Miss Roelle who greeted me!” The young ladies clamored to know more and the storyteller acquiesced, “It was but her distant relation, Brienne Tarth. Do you know her?”

“Know her!” Sansa said in surprise. “I have known her for many years for she has often visited Miss Roelle -- for what reason I do not understand considering her relation’s temperament.” 

“Duty, of course,” Mr. Lannister replied. “Duty and honor and that sort of fuss and bother. Miserable existence really.”

“Quite,” Jeyne said, in clear admiration of the gentleman. Sansa smiled upon noticing it: anything to remove Jeyne’s adoration of Mr. Baelish! 

“But she was there,” he said, moving along the street, indicating that the young ladies follow, “let us walk further from the street, I almost feel as though her lumbering figure can spy me speaking of her. Through the window, perhaps?” 

“You may walk us home?” Sansa suggested. 

“Is that not too far for you ladies?”

“We walked here!” Jeyne said eagerly. “We can manage it again!”

“I should not have doubted you.”

They spoke of Miss Tarth as they went along the road, Mr. Lannister confessing that it was not the first time he had met the young woman. “I was visiting friends along the Storm Coast and lo, she was there as well. Her father’s home is on the coast, you see. He made his fortune in rather more new money than old --  _ trade.”  _ Sansa and Jeyne murmured their understanding of the situation and Mr. Lannister went on, confident in his ability to weave a tale. “You have met her, Miss Stark, but Miss Poole you have not? Then I must warn you now rather than later that she is unlike any other woman you will ever meet.”

“Oh?” Jeyne asked.

“She is taller than I,” Mr. Lannister gestured over his head, “with shoulders twice as broad. And her poor face -- any plain girl would look as beautiful as the two of you next to her. And if she was standing next to you young ladies she would look twice as homely. She is an unfortunate creature -- that is what my sister called her when they met and it is true.”

Jeyne looked to Sansa for confirmation and she nodded in agreement. 

Mr. Lannister looked amused. “And isn’t she rather dour?”

“I would not say dour,” Sansa said, although it was true in her mind.

“So pleasantly diplomatic our Miss Stark is, is she not?” Mr. Lannister asked Jeyne who agreed readily.

Sansa laughed and when speaking of the conversation to Jon, she laughed even more, delighting in the retelling.

Jon only frowned at her tale. “I’m afraid this only speaks poorly of Mr. Lannister -- how can he be so rude to a person he is only mildly acquainted with -- and he is speaking of these things to two young ladies who he barely knows.”

“Well!” Sansa said, unhappy with Jon’s judgment. “I thought it was quite insightful.”

“How?” Jon asked. “You have barely spoken to Miss Tarth. A few times a year perhaps when you were both small but that is not enough to pass a judgement on her character.”

“Well, she is dour! And her figure is quite --”

“She cannot help the face and figure she is born with -- you were born with wealth, beauty, and intelligence. Do not judge those who were not.”

“Ah! So you think she is dull as well!”

“I haven’t spoken to her in years and I think this conversation only proves we should invite her and her cousin, Miss Roelle, to dinner.”

“Or to the ball,” Sansa said, suddenly ashamed. “Did I not tell you that Mr. Lannister wants to host a ball for his brother at his next visit?”

Jon smiled. “That will be a good thing for you -- you rarely have a chance to dance, Sansa.”

“No one hosts balls -- public or private here,” she reminded him, although a blush crossed her face upon saying the words. Jon was one of the only gentleman who had a home large enough to host a ball but disliked dancing -- she had only seen him dance twice in her entire life although she supposed he danced when visiting her brother in the capital. “It would be nice to dance, don’t you agree?”

“You know I do not,” Jon laughed, “but it will be good to watch you and Arya dance.”


	3. Volume III

**VOLUME THREE**

Mr. Jaime Lannister did not visit again for another two months -- his father ill and in desperate need of his eldest son and heir. Not his youngest though, Mrs. Stark said to Sansa in confidence, a frown etched on her face. Mr. Tyrion Lannister did not seem bothered by such a thing, however -- his wife was to have a child and his only mood was merriment.

Sansa was less merry. “We cannot have a ball until he comes back!” she said to Jon as they walked together. “Why, oh why did he leave? We never have balls.”

He only smiled at her and she couldn’t help but smile back. “You are such an intelligent young woman, Sansa. . .  yet when you complain of balls and try to create love matches between friends, well that is when I remember you are not yet one-and-twenty.”

“Oh!” Sansa said, annoyed enough to remove her arm from his as they walked the path to Miss Roelle’s. Jon insisted upon them visiting the old maid and her cousin. “I never have a chance to go to balls. We do not have a house in the capital.”

“Robb does.”

“With his new bride --” Sansa rejoined.

“I am sure he would welcome a visit from his sister -- or perhaps both you and Arya.”

“Arya will not leave,” Sansa said. “She is too busy speaking to the smithy to dream of things like dancing.”

“Mr. Waters is a good man.”

“And completely unsuitable for Arya.”

“Your mother would think so,” Jon said thoughtfully. “When did Arya befriend Mr. Waters?”

“The Lannisters took her to town one day and they stopped by the smithy -- I believe to remove a sore tooth of Mrs. Lannister -- and in one moment they became quite friendly! One visit is all it took.”

Jon’s smile was kind. “Sounds like one of your novels.”

Sansa quickly added (although she wasn’t too sure of it herself): “This is no love match!”

“Arya has never cared for rank,” Jon reminded her. “And to be fair, it seems you do not either half the time. You push Miss Poole to marry above herself -- is it so strange that Arya may choose to marry below?”

They continued to argue and smile as they crossed the path that led to town. To their shared surprise, Mr. Jaime Lannister sat upon a horse, his gaze distant -- dreading the visit to Miss Roelle, Sansa supposed for that was what she herself dreaded. 

“Good day!” Sansa greeted once she surmised no such greeting would come from Mr. Lannister. 

He started in surprise, his gaze leaving the path and focusing on Sansa and her companion. “You have surprised me, Miss Stark! And Mr. Targaryen, how do you do?”

Jon greeted Mr. Lannister as well as he could, his face losing the trace of a smile it had possessed earlier on the walk. Sansa spoke more amicably than her cousin, asking about Mr. Lannister’s plans and if he had seen his brother yet. 

Mr. Lannister said he had not -- but why was he going such a way through town if he was heading to his brother’s, Sansa asked the gentleman. Mr. Lannister smiled charmingly -- the way every gentleman should -- and spoke of the view and other things that did not satisfy Sansa’s curiosity. 

“Well,” she said, “we are going to Miss Roelle’s -- I shall give them your best.”

“You’re going to Miss Roelle’s?” Mr. Lannister repeated, his gaze changing into something curious. “How odd, I was just there.”

Why? Sansa wondered to herself just as Jon said. “I suppose that is why you were in town then?”

Mr. Lannister did not blush or falter as he explained why it was necessary to visit them first -- an explanation that Sansa could not make heads nor tails of -- “And that is that,” he ended with, smiling again and tipping his hat. “I hope I shall see you at my brother’s soon.”

“Of course,” Sansa said, “But I hope you shall convince him of the necessity of a ball.”

“I will do my best, Miss Stark.”

At Miss Roelle’s, Jon and Sansa made conversation as best they could -- but Sansa was still mystified by the strange encounter with Mr. Lannister and Jon was not a conversationalist at the best of times -- and this was the worst of times. Miss Roelle was ungrateful for their presents and presence, irritable that she now had two guests to care for in addition to the young man who visited this morning, although Sansa believed it was rather charitable of Miss Roelle to call Mr. Lannister young. Miss Brienne Tarth was quiet as always although something flashed in her blue eyes once or twice -- there was an intelligence there, Sansa surmised but grew annoyed that Brienne would not share her thoughts. Instead, they all listened to Miss Roelle’s list of complaints and grievances until at last it was time to leave. 

“Do visit us,” Sansa told Miss Tarth. “I insist upon it.”

Miss Tarth’s smile was quick and forced but she agreed nonetheless. 

“That was kind of you,” Jon said to Sansa. “I fear Miss Tarth has few friends.”

“She is a bore,” Sansa said. “But I know I must be kind to all -- even bores.”

“I believe she is just shy.”

“Shy!”

“Not everyone likes to speak as much as you do, Sansa.”

“Sometimes I wish I was a man just so I could challenge you.”

He smiled at her. “Now you sound like your sister.” 

Sansa flushed. 

“It is a compliment, my lady.”

“A compliment to me or Arya?” Sansa asked. “It is rather unfair that I receive your lectures and she receives your praise.”

“Should I speak of your beauty and wit and grace? I suspect you hear enough about that from others that you do not need to hear it from me.”

“But sometimes I would like to hear it from you, Jon.”

“I admire you more than most young ladies.”

“That is no compliment. You do not like most young ladies.”

“And yet I like you. That is a compliment in of itself my dear Sansa.”

“Dearest Jon,” Sansa laughed. “If you believe that is a compliment to a young lady, you have much to learn. It is no wonder you are unmarried.”

His gaze was impenetrable. “Please do not try to assist me in a love match, Sansa. I cannot bear the casualties that would result from such an attempt.”

“I will not -- I have learned my lesson. And in any case, if you were married we would not be able to speak like this. Your wife would not like it.”

Jon smiled. “You are my friend and my family, Sansa. This imagined wife of mine would have to like it for I will always take walks with you.”

This pleased Sansa for a reason she could not name and, quite satisfied, she tucked her arm in his. “This is why you will never marry, Jon.”

“Perhaps,” he only said and together they walked back to Winterfell.

The newlywedded Mr. and Mrs. Baelish were at her home when Sansa found her way back to Winterfell without Jon by her side. Sansa had not seen her aunt in many years -- she remembered her aunt as a young woman full of life and to see her as she was now… old and sour… 

“You look much too like Catelyn, dear, is there any Ned in you at all?” Mrs. Baelish sniffed. 

Sansa’s mother didn’t seem pleased with the question but said nothing, not one to offend a family member. Her sister, Lysa, unfortunately, did not subscribe to such a philosophy. She spoke of the drapes and the artwork with a strange, unhappy expression and when Arya joined them in the parlor, she chose to aim her speculative and unkind nature towards Sansa’s sister. Unfortunately for their dear Aunt Lysa, Arya Stark shared one characteristic with her aunt -- she also did not mind offending a family member.

It was not long after the tea and biscuits were served that Mr. and Mrs. Baelish took their leave of the Stark household, looking very much like they would like to never come back -- or at least Mrs. Baelish did not, despite it being her sister’s home. Mr. Baelish’s eye was too keen on Sansa’s figure to allow Sansa any hope that he would not visit again. 

“You should not have spoken to them like that,” Mrs. Stark said to her youngest daughter, looking very much torn between pride and exasperation. “They are your elders and relatives.”

“They were being rude!”

“That does not mean you have to match them in their manner,” Sansa said, agreeing with her mother.

Arya only laughed.

* * *

Once it was clear to all in town that Mr. Jaime Lannister was intending on staying in town for as long as an  _ entire month _ , Mr. Tyrion Lannister soon became obliged to hold the ball he had promised. He was not entirely eager to do so but agreed once Sansa pleaded the case as he was too weary to fight with the indomitable Miss Stark.

“It shall be utterly splendid,” Sansa declared to Jeyne who tittered in open delight.

And she was right. The hall Mr. Tyrion Lannister rented was filled with candles that glittered on their golden stems, curtains that held back the cold from entering through the windows -- and the clothes were gold and silver, blue and red. Men and women wore their best frocks and Sansa could not help but smile at them all, pleased that she would have a dance of her own. Even Miss Tarth looked well -- her dress was a royal blue that made her eyes shine in the candlelight, although still her face was miserable. Kindness ran through Sansa’s chest at the sight of her but she could not muster the will to say anything but the shortest greetings, too afraid of embarrassing the other young lady who really did seem to be just  _ shy. _

The music flowed and spun through the heated air and Sansa laughed as Mr. Jaime Lannister chose her to lead the first dance. Jeyne insisted she dance with him and so Sansa agreed. The attention was flattering and Sansa enjoyed every moment, ignoring the ignoble glances of her Aunt, who glared from across the room. Mrs. Baelish was quite put out that she was not the woman leading the dance (and the room) with Mr. Jaime Lannister as she was the newest citizen of their little town and the newest bride. It should be her, Sansa had heard her aunt insist to Sansa’s mother only minutes before their arrival at the ball.

But Jaime Lannister cared nothing for such things as convention and so it was Sansa laughing around the ballroom as her aunt glowered.

“Oh, I wish she had not been invited,” Sansa thought for she suspected her aunt could ruin everything. And if not her, then her newest relation, Mr. Baelish, would certainly do something. 

Jon had been right about him.

Even now as Sansa danced with another man, Mr. Baelish sauntered around the room with a small pleased smile underneath his mustache, his gaze near her figure. 

She watched him speak to Mrs. Lannister and Miss Roelle and Miss Mordane, professing an inclination to dance the next set. Her aunt was nearby as well, but not close enough to speak, and on the other end of the room Sansa spied Jeyne, who was observing the proceedings with a hesitant glance. Jeyne had not yet been asked to dance and it was clear she was hoping that someone would ask her -- but there were so few men to dance with!

“Do you not dance, Mr. Baelish?” Mrs. Lannister probed politely, also noting that so few men were dancing tonight.

“Oh, I am an old married man -- but I would love to dance with you.”

She smiled. “Not tonight, I’m afraid. I will not be dancing.”

“Then you Miss Roelle?” he japed.

The old maid only glared at the invitation at which Miss Mordane was then invited. She shook her head: “No, I am quite fine, but I know Miss Jeyne Poole has yet to dance a set. She is over there looking very pretty -- you should ask her.”

“Miss Poole? Well -- I am an old married man. I do not dance any longer. Excuse me.”

None of the ladies said much else as he left, although Mrs. Lannister looked unsurprised and unamused by Mr. Baelish’s sudden exclamation. Sansa’s gaze followed Mr. Baelish’s back and saw he and her aunt exchange wickedly terrible smiles and realized -- oh! This was  _ him.  _ This was him truly as he was -- how had she not seen it? And Jeyne! Jeyne had heard it all. Sansa was afraid to look at her friend’s face but once she did, relief took sudden hold of her. 

For  _ Jon _ was leading Jeyne by the hand to dance the next set. Delight, euphoria -- sheer happiness overtook everything in Sansa’s heart and so she smiled, hoping that he would see her gratitude once he looked over and caught her eye. But it was difficult to catch his eye with the room filled with dancers -- even Miss Tarth was dancing the second set (with a kindhearted Jaime Lannister, Sansa thought) and so was Arya with another young man.

“It seems Mr. Targaryen has taken pity on Miss Poole, quite…  _ noble _ of him,” Sansa heard her aunt say to someone but Sansa could not bring herself to care. For Jon was a hero this day and the Baelishes looked foolish and mean-spirited to all those around them. 

Everything was as it should be, Sansa thought and later spoke those thoughts to Jon, who only smiled in reply. “It has even been proven that you can dance now, Jon. I suppose I should thank Mr. Baelish for such proof but I cannot bring myself to thank the man for anything.”

Jon spoke: “Sometimes Sansa it feels as though he chose his bride to hurt  _ you _ \-- and this snub only proves my theory more. He is your relation and yet he cannot be kind to your friend?”

“He is as you have always professed him to be, Jon, not worth mine or Jeyne’s friendship. Nor even of Aunt Lysa’s! Oh, I wish she had not married him. He is vile and untrue. He is the complete opposite of what a gentleman is and should be. He is nothing like you or Father or Robb.”

Jon smiled. “And is that what you want in a courtship? A gentleman?”

“Of course! I do not wish to marry -- no one can compare to  _ Florian  _ \-- but if I must marry I will marry a gentleman of good character with much to recommend him.”

“And would that require a great fortune?”

“Why would he need a great fortune? I have one already.”

Jon laughed and Sansa felt pleased. “There is another set upcoming, you know,” she told him, “and I should like you to dance with me.”

“With me?”

“After all, we are not brother and sister.”

“...We are not.”

“So it will not be improper for you to dance a set with me.”

The low candlelight hid Jon’s expression and for a moment Sansa was afraid she asked too much. But then,  _ he spoke _ : “Indeed… it would not.”

“Come then,” Sansa said, “and dance with me.”


	4. Volume IV

**VOLUME IV**

It was a quiet week following the ball -- so quiet that Sansa grew dreadfully bored. Nothing had changed until one very particular day -- Jaime Lannister was still at his brother’s, Miss Tarth still visiting the awful Miss Roelle, Arya still rode like a man rather than a young lady and Jon still visited Winterfell with nothing less than four different lectures under his hat. That was all right, of course, Sansa believed, for she usually had four different lectures for him as well.

Twas was only a visit from Jeyne that saved Sansa from the tediousness of sketching yet another portrait of Arya as she slept on the couch. Jaime Lannister was with Miss Poole as she came in, her expression pale. 

“Whatever is the matter?” Sansa had to ask, before sending Arya off to fetch water.

“Lions,” Jaime said, “they were weak things compared to what lies near my home in Casterly Rock, but enough to give Miss Poole ( _and myself, to be sure_ ) a fright.”

Jeyne clung to Mr. Lannister’s arm, still shaking. “I feel foolish,” she said, “but Mr. Lannister thought so quickly, bringing me upon his horse as if I were lighter than flour and quickly and quietly set us off away from the lion.”

_“How terrible!”_

“Quite terrible!” Jeyne agreed, shivering.

Once the subject of the ball was all that could be spoken of in ___ton but now, it seemed, everyone’s heads were full of lions and Jaime Lannister’s heroics. His heroics were quite interesting to Sansa, who watched how tenderly he comforted Jeyne from her trauma and how he asked after her in the days after. Sansa had not tried to matchmake since Mr. Baelish -- and would not do so even now! Even now that it was _obvious_ that Mr. Lannister had feelings for her sweet Jeyne Poole. And how could Jeyne not find Mr. Lannister extraordinary? He was full of great heart and bravery -- and had saved her!

Only a few days past this extraordinary event did Miss Poole approach Sansa with matters of the heart. “I have something to tell you,” she said, hesitating. “I have been a foolish, silly girl --”

“Oh Jeyne! So have I!

“No, Sansa, not like I have been! Look!” she said, holding out a small box. Sansa took it and opened it, surprised to find nothing worthwhile. It was filled with irrelevant, tiny, silly things. They varied in their use and nature causing only confusion and bewilderment.

“This looks like a feather?”

“It is! From Mr. Baelish’s own hat! I do not love him anymore, Sansa -- the way he treated me at the ball! I should have destroyed this from the moment he confessed his love for you -- from the moment he married another (your very own aunt!) but I -I could not.”

There were not only feathers in the box but other trifles: a pin, a button, a stone -- Sansa did dare ask the meaning of these, instead listening to Jeyne’s heartfelt confession. “I want to throw it all in the fire -- destroy every last piece of it. And then he’ll be gone.”

“Good!” Sansa declared. “He is not worthy of your heart. You will fall in love again and marry!”

“Marry? No, I shan’t.”

Sansa was surprised and hoped Jeyne was not copying her own vow. “Why ever not? Not because of Mr. Baelish?”

“No! Of course not,” Jeyne looked disgusted. “What were we ever thinking regarding him? No, it is not because of _him…”_

Sansa realized the truth of the matter at once. _Jeyne had fallen in love again._ Sansa, torn between her desire to know the truth and her desire to keep her own promise of never matchmaking again, kept silent.

Fortunately, Jeyne broke it. “The man I… well, he is yards better than Mr. Baelish. When he rescued me--”

“Oh no more needs to be said! I thank the gods he was there.” Mr. Lannister had been wonderful, Sansa thought, and approved of her friend's hopes.

“Oh, Miss Stark, you understand me so well. He is so much nobler than Mr. Baelish.”

“That I can very much agree.”

“I was perfectly miserable and then -- he saved me from the misery and lifted me to pure bliss. I doubt it would ever be returned though, Sansa, he is so above me. If Mr. Baelish thought I was low then Mr. -- “

“Mr. Baelish is an idiot,” Sansa declared hotly. “You are worthy of any man you choose.”

“Oh, Sansa! Thank you.”

* * *

Arya and Sansa traipsed their way down the path to ___ton, hoping to pay a visit to Miss Roelle and Miss Tarth. Their mother had told them to do so and while typically both young ladies would have been dreading such a courtesy call, they dreaded their mother’s duty more. Mrs. Stark was playing hostess to her sister, Mrs. Baelish, at Winterfell. Even Miss Roelle and Miss Tarth were more appealing than their aunt.

“We should stop at the smithy,” Arya said, “on our way back. I am sure Robb would appreciate a gift on his next visit.”

“He will not be home for at least two months yet,” Sansa reminded her sister, hoping that what Jon had told her weeks ago regarding the smithy and her sister was not true. “He -- and the smith -- can wait.”

Arya agreed although she looked rather disappointed. Fantasies flew in Sansa’s mind of what Arya would do -- but such flights were stopped abruptly when she came into Miss Roelle’s home and found Mr. Jaime Lannister and Jon there, seated apart, looking very uncomfortable with each other’s presence.

“More guests?” Miss Roelle grumbled and then ordered Miss Tarth to help with the tea and biscuits. “I have just come from the post,” Mr. Lannister said to Sansa once she was seated beside him, “and have heard that my father would like to see me back very soon. That is why I am here you see --”

“You have no need to explain yourself to me, Mr. Lannister,” Sansa said, deciding to see his visit as a charitable one.

Jon looked over at them with disapproval although Sansa was unsure of what she did to warrant such a reprimand. She still blushed, however, and Mr. Lannister spoke of it in amused tones. Only when Miss Tarth came back with the tea did he cease his teasing, instead speaking of: “High Heart -- I have heard it has a lovely view.”

“The children of the forest once lived there,” Arya told him. “There are supposed to be thirty-one weirwood stumps.”

“Are there? And isn’t it near enough for a visit? Shouldn’t we go up there for a picnic?”

Jon frowned. “I am not sure that is a good idea.”

Mr. Lannister only laughed, “Why not? Spring is here and I am to leave soon enough --” Miss Tarth’s head turned away at this but Sansa had no moment to wonder at it for Jaime was speaking rapidly -- “it can be a goodbye present for me.”

“You won’t come back?” Sansa asked.

“Of course, I will,” he vowed, “but I do not know when yet. My father…”

“Needs your attention,” Miss Tarth supplied, her blue eyes bright.

Mr. Lannister looked unhappy for only a moment, a smile appearing on his handsome face. “Yes, yes, indeed. She has the right of it.”

“We should go,” Arya said, surprising Sansa. “And invite everyone worthwhile.”

“That means your Miss Poole should come,” Mr. Lannister said. “As well as my brother and his dear wife, if she is up to it. Your mother is welcome as well.”

“And me?” Miss Roelle demanded.

“Of course _you_ , Miss Roelle,” Mr. Lannister said, looking at Sansa with mirth.

And so it was settled quickly.

Until Sansa’s mother accidentally invited Mr. and Mrs. Baelish.

“It will be quite fun with us young folks,” Sansa’s aunt said to her, fanning herself. “Although quite hot, I fear.”

And then the party was brought down once more by the presence of Arya’s particular friend, Gendry Waters, the smith. “Jon is friends with him!”

Sansa attempted to argue about Gendry’s lack of birth but Arya would not hear of it -- “He is of the same birth as your friend, Jeyne,” Arya said.

“That is not true! Jeyne is not a natural daughter but a true one!”

“Would you both stop?” their mother asked. “This entire trip of yours is a disaster in the making -- I wish you would postpone or cancel it. I cannot imagine you will have a good time as it is now. Your guests are too numerous and varied.”

“We will have fun, mother. I assure it.”

“Then cease your arguments for you have given me a headache.”

High Heart was as lovely as promised -- although that did not ease any of the picnickers’ feelings. For the weather was hot and bothersome, as Sansa’s Aunt Lysa proclaimed no less than thirty-three times (Arya counted), causing the whole party to wallow in misery.

Sansa would not allow this. She sat beside Mr. Jaime Lannister who was also in a terrible temperament. Before they arrived he had shared a carriage with Miss Tarth in an act of charity and when they both came out, one was red-faced and the other was pale and neither of them had been willing to reveal what had been said. “She is just a bore,” Mr. Lannister told Sansa as they walked up the hill. “We barely said one word to another.”

Still, something in his manner made her wonder at his words but Sansa did not wish to think ill of the man she wished would marry sweet Jeyne.

Jeyne was on the other side of Mr. Lannister, situated beside him and Jon, who was watching the scene with a careful, measured eye. He offered his handkerchief to Jeyne when she turned red from the sun. “Oh, thank you!” Jeyne replied.

At this, Mr. and Mrs. Baelish stirred from their silence. Sansa was unsure of why they had come and was only grateful that they did not bring her cousin Robin with them. “This is rather…”

“Dull?” Mr. Lannister supplied for them both, his smile dazzling. “Then let us entertain our lady host, the lovely Miss Sansa Stark, who has provided us with this excursion to separate us from the lonely, dreary days of normalcy.”

Sansa did not know what else to do but laugh, although she noted that the whole of the party was not nearly as amused.

“I do not have much to entertain Miss Stark,” Mr. Baelish said swiftly, his tone curt. “Lysa, let us walk and let the young people play their games.”

“Are we not young?” Lysa asked.

“You are but I am not, of course, my dear,” Mr. Baelish said, rather impatiently. “Let us go.”

The husband and wife removed themselves from the party and walked off together, relieving Sansa of their arduous stares.

“Happy couple,” Mr. Lannister said. “And they hit it off in a week? In a public place -- quite a risk Mr. Baelish took considering you can only know a woman in her own home with her own family.”

“That is not quite fair,” Miss Tarth said, surprising them all. Startled by her own voice, she ducked her head and looked out towards the lovely view the hill provided them.

Mr. Waters quickly jumped to her aid. “I would agree with Miss Tarth.”

“Have you ever been married or betrothed, Mr. Waters?”

“No, have you?”

Mr. Lannister smiled. “Touche, my friend. I suppose I am only jealous of their… happiness.”

Jon said nothing to any of this, his eyes meeting Miss Tarth’s. “Why isn’t it fair?” he asked.

Miss Tarth held her head up and her sapphire eyes blazed. “Marriage is always a game of chance is it not? Only weak and irresolute characters will find a marriage that sprouted from love an inconvenience.”

Mr. Lannister met Miss Tarth’s gaze for but a moment and bowed his head. “I do not dare to argue with you, Miss Tarth. I only know I will have difficulty choosing my own bride. Miss Stark -- will you choose a bride for me? Someone must and I do not have the required character to do it myself!”

Sansa laughed. “What qualities does she require?”

“An innocent spirit.”

“Difficult to find in these fashionable parts,” Jon said.

Jeyne could be that woman! Sansa thought but only smiled. “And what else?”

“Beauty of course!” Mr. Lannister laughed in a manner that was puzzling but Sansa laughed as well.

The rest of the party did not. “Mr. Lannister I believe you ask too much,” Sansa said. “Now we must change the topic lest we shall offend our closest friends.”

“Something easy to do in our current company, I believe,” Mr. Lannister quipped. “In fact! Let us see how easy we can do such a thing.”

“That is much too dangerous a game, Mr. Lannister!” Sansa said.

Arya agreed. “Why don’t you do something less dull.”

“No!” Mr. Lannister shook his head. “Let us do something duller. Let us all think of the three dull things to entertain Miss Stark with -- or one very amusing thing.”

“Sounds even worse than the other idea,” Arya said, but Sansa paid her no mind.

“Oh, let’s please do it!” Sansa said.

“I do not wish to play,” Miss Tarth said, looking stricken by the thought.

“Oh but you would win, I’m sure of it!” Sansa said without thinking and without resistance from her inner conscious. “I bet you could come up with at least five very dull things!”

Miss Tarth’s face stilled and if Sansa had not looked directly into her eyes, she would have thought Miss Tarth did not catch her meaning. But Sansa made the mistake of staring into Miss Tarth’s eyes and so felt her conscious torn apart from the cruelty she had delivered to the other girl. There was no arrow sharper than the words she had spoken.

“Excuse me,” Miss Tarth said. “I believe I should join Mr. and Mrs. Baelish.”

“We will too!” Arya said, dragging her friend Mr. Waters with her. The three of them left Jeyne, Mr. Lannister, Sansa, and Jon by themselves. Jeyne quickly excused herself (her gaze lingering at Jon’s disapproving face) and Mr. Lannister helped her, leaving Jon and Sansa alone on top of the hill.

“How can you say such things, Sansa?” Jon demanded, a fury in his eyes. Sansa had never seen him so angry or disappointed in her. She suspected she had given him such glares for stupid, silly reasons and wished she hadn’t. For this sharp glance was devastating. “Badly done!”

“I-” Sansa began but silenced herself, ashamed. She imagined her father beside Jon and suspected his eyes would be just as sad and hurt if he had seen how she had behaved. If he were still alive...

“You know better than this! You are intelligent and kind and beautiful -- you have been blessed with all the gifts the gods grant men and women and yet you do this! I cannot understand it.”

“I’m sorry, Jon.”

“Do not apologize to me!” he said. “You know who your words have hurt. A good lady -- a kind woman only a year older than yourself, who has been repeatedly hurt by the world around her. You have been blessed, so blessed and yet you do not seem to realize it.”

“I do! Of course, I do.”

“Then take possession of those gifts and blessings and use them for good, not for ill! I -- Sansa,” Jon swallowed and looked away from her. Sansa had never felt as small in her life as she did at that moment.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she repeated, not knowing what else to do or say. “I truly am.”

He only shook his head and left her on top of High Heart alone, bewildered, and ashamed.


	5. Volume V

**VOLUME V**

A letter to Miss Brienne Tarth was sent forth quickly after the High Heart excursion. Sansa, whose guilt only grew as the spectre of Jon hovered over her conscience, apologized with a burst of agonized words and measured explanations. She could only hope Miss Tarth understood the depth of her remorse -- only hope and pray to the Old and the New Gods alike. 

Jon could not help her now -- he had left to seek advice about something he would only ask Robb. Sansa did not dare to ask him what he meant by such a venture, too ashamed to look him in the eye. He was not the last to scold her for her behavior -- Arya began to do so as soon as they had arrived home from High Heart but Sansa could not bear it then, breaking down into tears. 

Arya had said nothing to Sansa since, disapproving in the way she always did, choosing to spend her days with Mr. Waters instead of with Sansa. 

Which mattered little to Sansa for she could not bear to be near anyone now. Miss Tarth had yet to respond to her letter of attempted amends and Sansa’s heart could not bear the guilt nor could it bear the suffering she must have caused in Miss Tarth! She knew she had to visit the other young lady but was afraid to -- was afraid to see that she had caused irreparable damage.

It was only her mother who stopped her from her spending her days locked in her room.

“Please, Sansa, go see Miss Tarth. Arya has told me what happened and I will not scold you for I see you are punishing yourself quite well (without my leave or say so!) -- but you must do what is right. It is your duty to see to it.”

Sansa knew they were all correct -- Arya, her mother,  _ Jon  _ \-- and so put on her best day dress and her best bonnet, and went to town, hoping that Miss Roelle was not at home when she called. 

Her hopes were satisfied. It was only Miss Tarth and -- to Sansa’s astonishment -- Mr. Lannister who had come to call and was just leaving, he said, looking almost embarrassed. She suspected he had come to beg his own apologies for his behavior at High Heart. Why else would he be there?

Miss Tarth watched him leave with a plain, pensive expression and turned to Sansa, welcoming her in with dry pleasantries. Sansa reciprocated the politeness and then the two were silent. 

Until Miss Tarth spoke again. “What is that you want, Miss Stark?”

“You can call me Sansa.”

Miss Tarth said nothing, still awaiting an answer so Sansa supplied her with one: “I came to apologize in person. I was crass and cruel -- for no reason at all! I thought of myself as very amusing when all I did was hurt you. And what I said was not even true. You are not dull.”

“I have heard worse than this regarding myself,” Miss Tarth spoke, her voice even. “Is that all?”

“No!” Sansa said. “No, it is not at all! You do not understand the depths of my regret for how I spoke -- nor how I’ve treated you since you have come back to town! I fear that I have almost been jealous of you.”

At this Miss Tarth’s plain expression turned into incredulity. “Jealous?”

“I know it sounds quite silly, but I have given it thought and I suspect it’s correct. You have seen so much more than me, you have traveled all over -- you seem wiser and your behavior is always proper and correct. I am sure that you have never given your father worry as I give my mother -- “

“You would be wrong on that, Mis- Sansa.”

“Oh then please let us be friends,” Sansa said. “I know it is awkward between us now but --”

“It is not only you at fault,” Miss Tarth said. “I have… not been myself as of late.”

Sansa waited for the other young lady to explain but she did not. “I believe I have not been myself either, Miss Tarth.”

“You may call me Brienne.”

“Brienne,” said Sansa, allowing herself a smile. “It is a very pretty name, you know. I have always thought so.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you forgive me then? For what I said?” Sansa shook her head. “I am sorry to ask in such a way, I just fear that you haven’t and I don’t know what to do to make it up to you.”

“It is not only  _ your  _ fault,” Brienne replied. “But… yes, I do forgive you. You are a truly kind lady, Sansa.”

“As are you, Brienne.”

* * *

“I feel terrible about my behavior recently,” Sansa confessed to Jeyne. The other girl finally had a moment to visit. Miss Mordane had needed the young lady’s help at every turn since High Heart and so Sansa had not been able to see her for over a week. It was only now, seeing her dear friend, that her heart calmed. “I feel as though I have only made things worse for you and for others.” She did not dare to say Brienne’s name out loud, hoping that her most recent attempt at amends would satisfy the other girl. It had been a week since she had seen Brienne and she hoped all was well now that they had spoken.

“Oh you haven’t at all!” Jeyne comforted. “I would not be filled with such lightness and hope if it were not for you.”

“Truly?” 

“If it were not for you I would have never met that most wonderful man in the world, oh, Sansa! If it were not for you I would not have such hope that he returns my favor. And now I’m so sure he does!”

“Oh, I knew it!” Sansa clapped her hands together. “I knew Mr. Lannister would return your favor.”

“Jaime Lannister?” Jeyne wrinkled her nose. “Oh, Sansa, no! Jaime Lannister? What kind of fool do you take me for? I have better taste than  _ him.  _ He may be handsome but he is not like the man I love in any way -- there is no match for  _ him _ . The man I love is...” Jeyne sighed, “perfect.” Sansa’s heart stopped and she thought. Who else was there? Who else could it be? With a growing sense of horror, she realized the truth just as Jeyne spoke it:  _ “I meant dear Mr. Targaryen of course.” _

“Jon?!”

Jeyne blushed. “I am not familiar enough with him to call him by his first name, but yes, of course! And you thought I meant Mr. Lannister. How could anyone want  _ Mr. Lannister  _ when  _ Mr. Targaryen  _ is in the same room! Mr. Targaryen’s manners are so much better, his honor and kindness -- why when he --”

“But Mr. Lannister rescued you! And you spoke of being rescued!”

“Is that where the confusion is? Oh, sweet Sansa, I meant that Mr. Targaryen rescued me from being slighted at the ball. I was so embarrassed -- and quite ready to cry -- but then Mr. Targaryen was there asking me to dance.”

_ “He rescued you… ” _

Jeyne’s smile would have normally warmed Sansa’s heart but now it only broke it. “I am so happy that you know now! Do you think he loves me as well? For I am almost certain of it -- he was so kind to me at the picnic and at the dance. He speaks to me plainly and kindly and always helps me when I need it.”

“I do not believe Jon would ever leave a woman to doubt his attentions,” Sansa said at last, looking away from her friend, too afraid Jeyne would  _ know.  _ “He is too honorable.”

“Oh, Sansa, thank you!”

* * *

In an attempt to soothe her jumbled thoughts and nerves, Sansa chose to visit her once-governess and friend Mrs. Shae Lannister the next day, hoping that the older woman would provide wisdom and guidance in regards to Jeyne and Jon -- two names that should have never been linked together!

“She can’t have him -- he could not be my friend if he was her husband -- he could not speak to me as he does now -- he could not visit so often, he could not tease and lecture me, he could not discuss politics with me, he could not hold my gaze, he could not  _ dance with me _ if he is hers.” Sansa was surprised to find herself crying and was glad no one but Shae was near. “But Jeyne says he has given her reason to believe that he is in love with her too and he would never mislead a young lady in love -- he is too honorable, too kind, _too good._ ”

“Oh Sansa, _ you _ are in love with him,” Shae said, choosing not to remark on the silliness of her other comments. “It’s quite obvious.”

“That is ridiculous! He is my friend and has been since I was born.”

“It is not unusual for friends to fall in love,” Shae said.

“I know nothing of anyone being friends before they marry.”

“That is because your acquaintance is small here -- and I am sure that will not be true for long. You are young, there is more to life than this town. If you married Jon you could travel --”

“If  _ *I*  _ marry Jon? What an idea.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“Because this is all ridiculous nonsense, I cannot love him. He is my cousin and my friend only.”

Shae’s smile was sharp. “I do not believe you -- and I suspect you do not believe yourself either.”

Sansa was dismayed to find that Shae was correct -- she did not believe her own words. Time was splintered between two futures -- one where she was the wife of Jon and one where Jeyne was his wife. She much preferred the former. “What am I to do?”

“Accept it,” Shae said, her former profession as a governess becoming clear in her expression. “And, when he comes back, speak to him. Determine if he feels as you do.”

Sansa had never been so uncertain in her life. “But Jeyne believes --”

“It doesn’t matter what Jeyne believes -- you must ask Jon.”

“But he has not forgiven me for how I behaved at High Heart -- I have behaved so poorly, Father would be ashamed --”

“Perhaps he hasn’t but he will. He loves you, Sansa. In what way exactly will be determined quite soon.”

Soon was not enough for Miss Sansa Stark but she was fortunately diverted from her own troubles by the news that Mr. Jaime Lannister and Miss Brienne Tarth were to be married -- in fact, they had been secretly engaged the whole while (for longer than both of them had been in town). It was only Tywin Lannister’s (very) recent demise a week before that allowed them to go through with their plans of matrimony.

“And the way Jaime flirted with you!” Shae said, looking almost distraught as she placed a hand over her belly. “We had hoped you two would get along famously but I suppose…”

“It is all right,” Sansa said -- for she had barely thought of Jaime Lannister for weeks and weeks and was more surprised that Brienne had agreed to hide the engagement. “I love another now, as you well know. I even believed Jeyne would be a good match for him. Oh how stupid and silly I’ve been.”

“Still it is quite…”

“Yes, he shouldn’t have flirted with me -- especially in front of his poor betrothed. How cruel! And the way he spoke of her in private! And how he encouraged me on the hill at the picnic!”

“I suspect it was his way of throwing us all off the truth.”

“As if we would have guessed it anyhow.”

“Jon suspected, you know,” Shae said. “He spoke of it to me and Tyrion and we both laughed at the idea of it.”

“Jon is wiser than I give him credit for,” Sansa said, wishing that wasn’t the case. “It is quite annoying at times.”

“He is also rash -- I imagine that, if he does love you, he will be at your door within the week of hearing this news about Jaime. And since Tyrion has already sent him a letter days ago when we first learned of it…”

“If he loves me as his cousin he may also run towards home,” Sansa said. “He is protective of me and has always been so. Do you not remember when Mr. Ramsay Bolton said such unkind things to me at a ball when I was just a girl?”

“Of course,” Shae smiled. “Jon was a fearsome sight. I suppose I should warn Mr. Lannister to leave town before Jon arrives. I can’t imagine either will like what the other has to say.”

“Oh, this is all useless,” Sansa said. “Jon will not come back from Robb’s just for me. If he comes back he will propose to Jeyne and my heart will be lost.”

“You would survive it.”

“But I would never be happy again,” Sansa sighed.

Shae hid her mirth by sipping her tea. _ “Quite.” _

As Sansa walked the path from her dear friend’s house to her own home, she was startled by the sound of footsteps. Looking up she saw her cousin’s handsome, noble face and she flushed at the sight.  “Sansa!” he said, equally startled. Jon’s hands began to reach for her own but then stopped as if he had realized the impropriety. “I have just come from your home -- but you were not home.”

“Ah,” she said, blushing, still shocked that he was in front of her when she had believed he would not come back for weeks yet.

“Mr. Greyjoy is still there, however. Do you remember him?”

Sansa did and said so, unsure of why Robb’s friend was there until Jon explained that Robb and his wife were there too. “They came back with me from the --”

“Why did you come back?” Sansa rejoined, feeling a need to speak her mind as she always did with him. “I thought you were to stay there another month.”

“I was supposed to -- yes --”

“And now you are here? To attempt another lecture. I do not need it, Jon! I am not a child.”

“I know that quite well.”

“Then why are you all here?”

Jon stood silently for a moment and Sansa was almost afraid her temper placed her in a worsening light but then, at last!, he spoke: “I received a letter from Mr. Tyrion Lannister.”

“I was just at his home,” Sansa interrupted. “And so I can suspect what the letter’s contents were -- isn’t it almost funny?”

“Funny?” Jon looked struck and this time his hand grasped her own. “I thought you -- were you not in love with him?”

Sansa could not help but laugh. “Is this how everyone feels when I attempt to matchmake? Oh, Jon, I have never dreamed of being in love with him. Mr. Jaime Lannister is no --”  _ you! _ She almost said but stopped herself.

Jon did not notice. “I thought you were -- you were so close with him at High Heart --”

High Heart was not something Sansa wanted to discuss. “I am fine, Jon. My heart is currently in one piece.” Jon did not miss the _ currently  _ if the furrowing of his brows was any indication, but she could not bear to speak of her attachment to him, too afraid he would deny her the only thing she had ever wanted. “And it seems they are very well-suited based on Mrs. Lannister’s report. It is an amusing match to be sure -- one so beautiful and the other so plain -- but you have seen them together.”

“I have and I have noticed how ill he spoke of her when she was not around.”

“To scare us off the truth, to be sure.”

“He is a scoundrel and a rake,” Jon said. “And yet I envy him.”

Terrified, Sansa kept silent. 

“You don’t ask me why?” Jon asked. 

“I am sure you will tell me in your own time.”

“That time is now, Sansa. And please let me speak!” 

“Jon -- you are my friend and my cousin, but please don’t --”

“And that is all we are?”

Sansa raised her eyes to find his gaze. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” Jon said, removing his hand from hers to touch her cheek. “No, we are not. You are more than that to me, Sansa. If I loved you less…I might be able to talk about it more.*”

“You love me.”

“The Old Gods help me, I do.” When she kept looking at him in a silent, amazed gaze, he grew nervous. “And you, Sansa?”

She smiled. “How could I not love you, Jon?” 

Jeyne’s affliction -- her love for Jon Targaryen -- was kept secret as the two lovers professed all their thoughts, dreams, and inner turmoils to one another. 

“I was not sure of it until the ball -- and then it worsened when I saw your behavior at High Heart --”

“You fell in love with me more then? How? I was terrible!” 

“I feared for you then -- as I am sure you have feared for me and my fear revealed my love for you.”

Sansa thought of times in the past where she had saved Jon from indecorous behavior. “You have been rather well-behaved these past months, Jon... whilst my behavior has failed myself and others. Poor Jeyne has had to suffer the most of it.”

“And Miss Tarth,” Jon reminded her and Sansa flushed at the thought of High Heart. He pressed her hand as if it to comfort. “Although I am sure she is fine now that her engagement is public knowledge.”

“I hope so. I truly meant nothing by it. And Mr. Lannister -- he had been so encouraging of those comments but when I said them he left so quickly -- oh, and now we know why. If someone had been as cruel to me as I had been to her I believe you would strike them! And if someone spoke of you like that I believe I would strike them!”

“I am sure you would,” Jon said. He smiled. “I have heard you have offered your apologies often and Miss Tarth is not the sort to ignore true remorse. And, after all, they both should apologize to us as well, for hiding their engagement for so long.”

“But it’s all rather silly, isn’t it? I do not mind that they hid it but -- oh, I don’t want to talk of them any longer, Jon! I’d rather talk of us. Mother will be -- well, Mother will be surprised. As will Arya. And Robb. Oh, how are we to tell Bran and Rickon. They all see you as an old friend and cousin -- practically a sibling but --”

Jon kissed her. “They will be happy for us. And I believe Robb figured out the extent of my feelings on the ride back from the capital. He is quite observant, your brother.”

Sansa was still flushed from the kiss and her betrothed could not help but admire how well she looked. “Too observant at times,” she said. “We should straighten ourselves before entering Winterfell or else he will know immediately what has taken place.”

“Am I walking you back then?”

“I would walk with no one but you, Jon.”

“I am sure your Jeyne would be hurt to hear that.”

“Stop your nonsense and kiss me again.”

Jon’s prediction was correct -- Robb knew straightaway, congratulating the couple almost as soon as they reached him, and the rest of the family was pleased. “No one else could handle her,” Arya quipped when asked her thoughts, causing Jon to laugh.

Mr. Greyjoy, who Sansa had not seen since he left after Jeyne’s rebuff months before, congratulated her and did not seem to begrudge her happiness despite her own earlier interference in his happiness, dipping his hat towards Sansa in approval. “He’s a boring sot, but I suppose you need that sort,” he told Sansa in private. 

“And what do _ you _ need Mr. Greyjoy?” she asked, thinking of Jeyne. He only smiled. 

Jeyne, when she was told the truth of Sansa’s new situation, only cried for a week, to her credit. Fortunately, Jon had the foresight to bring back Mr. Greyjoy with him. Mr. Greyjoy smiled at Jeyne so well and so roguishly that it only took another week for an elopement to occur. 

“Did you plan this?” Sansa asked her husband-to-be when she had heard the news, jesting as Jon would do no such thing -- he was no admirer of Theon Greyjoy although he did admit, to his own chagrin, that the two were well-matched. 

As well matched as Arya and a certain smith, Jon liked to tease his betrothed. But Sansa would not laugh. “If I cannot matchmake then you cannot as well!” she protested.

“As you wish,” he would say with a smile that delighted her every sense.

They were not invited to the wedding of Miss Brienne Tarth and Mr. Jaime Lannister but it seemed that only their particular family was invited to the small wedding in a sept on the Quiet Isle. It was, as Shae told Sansa later, a quiet, intimate affair. The bride wore blue and the groom placed his coat over her shoulders with the sort of kindness and love that Shae had never realized her brother-in-law possessed. “They are a happy couple, I believe,” Shae said, while Sansa held Shae’s newborn baby (a girl called Joanna whose hair was fair and curly), “now that they are free to be themselves.”

Sansa was glad for them and wrote a letter of congratulations. The newly wedded Mrs. Jaime Lannister wrote back and from their letters sprouted a friendship that lasted years. More children and more marriages followed these but the story of Jon and Sansa was complete. All remembered their simple marriage ceremony outside a weirwood stump with fondness and love for “ the wishes, the hopes, the confidence, the predictions of the small band of true friends who witnessed the ceremony, were fully answered in the perfect happiness of the union.”

* * *

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed! Thanks for reading! :)


End file.
